Saturday, 9:45pm
Joe's Bar
520 E. 6th St. (Avenue A), Manhattan
9:45pm: Cab drivers love it when you tell them you're going to Tribeca, then change your mind and have them U-turn and take you to the East Village, especially after they just yelled at you for trying to get four people in the backseat. But money is money and we arrived at Joe's unscathed.
9:55pm: Sara and a forty-something at the bar agree their tap beers taste terrible. She says so to bartender who suggests she stick with bottles, and unhappily replaces whatever she was drinking with a Bud Light, or maybe a Miller Light, but probably a Bud.
10:15pm: The 43-year-old (who did not make it into our cab) arrives. He's angry. Not sure why he didn't go home. Sara offers her place at the pool table, partially to be nice and partially to get away from the 29.
10:45pm: The 29 keeps grabbing Sara in an awkward-drunken halfhug; The 30-year-old and a 35-year-old play pool and talk tennis, Kansas, Asics sneakers.
11:15pm: The 29 and the 43 leave. A self-proclaimed regular, 30's with mustache, grabs Sara, declaring "I take her" as his pool partner. This decision makes no sense.
11:30pm: The Mustache tells Sara he was a member of Pink Floyd, and she wants to believe it. Is Pink Floyd from New Jersey?
12am: 35 goes to the bathroom and Sara kisses the 30. Oops. Confusion ensues.
UPDATE: we returned to Joe's on 4/10, about 10pm=a very crowded mix of hippies, hipsters and, yes, the Mustache. Ages vary; we still think it's Appropriate.
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